along the edges of the tightrope
by Cringe
Summary: post XMFC. Charles/Erik. Erik comes over for dinner, the boys react, Charles is...well, Charles, and bridges tentatively begin to mend. "New silverware, Charles?" "Oh, yes. Well, Hank thought it best to try something more environmentally friendly,"


**along the edges of the tight rope****  
><strong>disclaimer: all characters associated with the X-men franchaise are not mine.  
>warnings: possible trigger involving feeling ashamedincomplete due to being paraplegic

"...Shit!"

It appeared that Sean was much the same as ever, and his outburst brought the pounding of sneakers on stairs as the others came to investigate the disturbance.

"What are you doing here?" Alex demanded, nearly skidding on the last step in his haste to get to the door.

"I was invited, may I come in?"

Erik Lehnsherr was the last person any of the X-Men had expected to see on the doorstep again. The last they'd seen of him had been that dramatic exit off the island, leaving them behind. It had taken the Professor's telepathy and Hank's genius to get them off the island safely. It was a memory that none of them wished to revisit, as the effort had taken its toll on the Professor's mind. The additional strain of using his mutation in war with his pain, and they had been forced to knock him unconscious once Hank was able to figure out the controls of the small plane that the Professor had one of the pilots from the ships to bring them.

"Who the hell would invi-"

"Erik, my friend," Charles said, as he pushed awkwardly at the wheels of his chair, _Thank you Hank, I can take it from here_.

"Professor!"

"It's quite alright, Alex. I invited him." Charles said, motioning for him to move aside, and attempted to subtly look behind Erik.

"Mystique, had a pressing engagement. She sends her greetings," Erik said, stiffly.

Charles' shoulders drooped awkwardly. And the boys all glared at Erik. Thankfully, none of them could shoot lasers from their eyes, else Erik might worry.

"Well, then, since we're all here, shall we eat now?" Charles said, brightly, despite his obvious disappointment.

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Dinner was an awkward affair.

It was mostly silent, which from previous experience Erik knew to be completely abnormal, and punctuated only by the sound of utensils on plates. If tension could be cut, Erik knew that there would enough blocks of tension to fill the mansion with the way the boys were directing glares at him.

"How is Raven?" Charles asked, spearing a green bean.

Erik purposefully did not consider whether it was tactical maneuver on Charles' part that the question about his estranged sister - whom Erik might as well as stolen away by sheer virtue of his charisma - coincided with the mutilation of an innocent vegetable by fork tines.

"Mystique is well," He answered back, caution in his tone hidden, "She misses you."

Charles inclined his head, "And I miss her."

"Yeah, she misses us _so_ much that she decided not to come to dinner." someone muttered further down the table and was silenced with an "ooph!". Presumably the speaker had been readily reprimanded by one of his more wiser companions.

There was a sullen quiet after that, during which Erik turned his attention downward, contemplating his vegetables. They were a little bland for his taste. He momentarily mused on the necessity for such a long table and why Charles insisted on using it for meals. It was hardly conducive towards close-knit dining, and he twitched his fingers subtly.

"You could have just asked," Sean said as the salt container went zipping across the table and under his nose.

Erik mulled this over for a second before responding with, "Would you have given it to me?" while he sprinkled salt on the beans.

"Well...no," Sean admitted. He then appeared to retract the statement, glowering at Erik when Alex elbowed him with a hissed, "You're not supposed to _admit_ that."

Hank settled for glaring at Erik from over his plate. Privately, Erik thought that this disposition fit Hank more than his original mutation had. The boy had so much contained _rage_. Was this part of the boy's original personality that he had kept contained, but was let loose by his transformation to a more pure physical manifestation of his mutation, or was it something brought about by his mutation itself? Erik didn't know, Charles might but he was hardly going to ask. It was an interesting question to consider.

The tension was reaching amazing levels, Erik mused. He wondered if you set an electrical gauge in the room, whether the readings would pick up anything. From the way Charles was absently rubbing his temples and frowning at each boy in turn, all of whom looked away as soon as Charles looked at them, there was a definite undercurrent that he was not privy to. At least, not on the telepathic level. He could read their glares perfectly fine without any assistance.

Finally, it appeared that Charles was fed up with the unbroken silence.

"Really, everyone, it's not as though I'm pining. I am perfectly fine with Erik being here, I invited him after all," Charles said, somewhat exasperated as he picked up the bowl of greens and mildly passed it over to Sean. He gave Sean a slight nudge with the bowl when all the boy did was stare at him. And he wasn't the only one staring.

"Sean, if you please?" Charles said, reproving, ignoring the many looks of horror that were being directed at him. Except for Erik, who seemed intent on cutting his steak. He left the bowl of greens in Sean's somewhat limp hands.

"Erik, my friend, would you pass the potato salad?" Charles asked, politely, ignoring Sean as he fumbled to rescue the green beans with the bowl before he became part of the mix.

"Certainly, Charles," Erik replied, not even looking up from his steak as an elaborately painted porcelain bowl floated down the table.

Sean sent a horrified look over to Alex and Hank, who both had varying degrees of the same expression.

"I thought we got rid of all of the metal things!"

"Lead in the paint. Of course. There was lead. In the paint." Hank muttered as he pressed a blue paw to his forehead, saw Erik looking, and then glowered, "What? I can't scratch my forehead? All this fur itches."

"New silverware, Charles?" Erik asked blandly, as he looked at the fork in his hand.

"Oh, yes. Well, Hank thought it best to try something more environmentally friendly," Charles said nodding towards Hank who froze as Erik turned and gave him a friendly, toothy, smile. "And pass Alex the plate of steaks."

"Professor!" Alex gritted out the word between his teeth.

Charles merely raised a brow, "Well, in my defense, you were thinking very hard on how to beat Sean to that piece in the middle."

"You what?" Sean yelped, as the plate passed by him merrily.

"Sean, indoor voice," Charles reminded him as a dent appeared in the wall. Fortunately, everyone had learned by this point to not sit right in front of Sean.

"Yes, professor," Sean muttered, as he turned his glare towards Alex, who was helping himself to the large steak that was sitting in the middle of the meat pile. _Cheater_ Sean mouthed.

Alex merely stuffed a large forkful in his mouth, rolled his eyes, and then promptly choked. Hank, looking exasperated, gave a heavy whack on to Alex's back all the while glaring at Erik as if to dare him to say anything.

Fortunately, nothing was said.

There was polite silence until Erik retrieved the pepper, and Sean sneezed. After that, dinner had to be ended prematurely in order to restore the dining room to a somewhat respectable state. Hank's warning of the various microscopic remnants of Sean's snot that could still be lurking about was blatantly ignored. Nevertheless, the room was given a wide berth for the rest of the evening.

Charles promised to have it disinfected in the morning.

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"Charles, you must have a reason for inviting me. Besides shocking our fellow mutants," Erik said as he closed the door to Charles' study. He smiled as he heard a thump and then faint cursing from behind the closed door.

Charles wheeled back around to face Erik over the chess board that had been set up on the table in front of him, "Fancy a game, my friend?"

Erik eyed the board, noticing that it was already mid-play. This was the game that had been left unfinished by his departure, he realized in astonishment. Charles had taken care to leave the board untouched, save his replacement wooden pieces with metal He disguised his caution, and replied, mildly, "Metal pieces, Charles?"

Shrugging, Charles said, "Consider it a gesture of trust." Erik ignored the pointed look that was sent towards the helmet on his head. He was quite sure that it looked ridiculous. It had looked ridiculous on Shaw, it probably looked ridiculous on him. Considering that Ra-Mystique had told him so on numerous occasions he acknowledged, secretly, that the helmet did look a little overly dramatic. Calmly, he made his way over to the opposing chair, and sat down.

With the helmet still on.

He might trust Charles not to rummage around, but still, there were plans he'd rather Charles not get even a whiff about.

There was a few minutes of silence, only broken by the soft click of chess pieces moving across the board.

"They seem the same," Erik said, and as he set his piece down.

Charles gave a noncommittal hum, as he contemplated the board, before reaching for his next piece, "As well as can be expected. They're feeling a bit abandoned."

Erik scowled, "I'm not responsible for their feelings."

"Well, you did leave them on the beach with an entire naval army out there."

Erik eyed Charles' hand warily. Was it just him, or had Charles knocked that pawn down a little more forcefully than needed.

"But, that isn't what we're here to discuss," Charles said, finally.

"Then what are we here to discuss," Erik paused, "old friend."

"Oh don't give me that, Erik," Charles snorted, rather ungentlemanly, as he fiddled with a pawn in his hand. Erik waited, Charles would get around to talking about whatever it was he wished to discuss sooner or later. For now, he would contemplate how to get his king out of a rather sneaky ambush that he could see Charles beginning to set up. He set his piece down with a soft click, and then glanced up at the telepath. Charles had his thinking face on.

Erik was, for once, truly grateful for the helmet since it meant Charles couldn't overhear the thought that that he found Charles' thinking face utterly adorable. And it at times made him want to scream and be thankful for the extent of Charles optimistic naivety. He was never sure what he wanted more, for Charles to continue on this path that led him further away from him, Erik, or to have Charles beside him, ruthless and daring; losing all the brightness and optimism that Erik associated with his first and, truly, only friend.

"Erik, do you remember Cerebro?"

Charles' voice seeped into his thoughts, and for a moment, Erik thought that the helmet no longer worked as a blockade against Charles Xavier's immense telepathic abilities. But no, it was merely Charles, attempting to get his attention.

"Of course," his voice calm, disguising how rattled he had initially felt, "You let yourself become a lab rat." The scorn in his voice was evident, and he felt a small, very small, sense of satisfaction when Charles flinched minutely.

"Yes, well," Charles hesitated and then leaned forward, his fingers laced together and braced beneath his chin, "You do recall, after all, that the first one was located at the CIA facility. Upon further investigation it appears to have been destroyed during Shaw's rampage. Which I suppose is just as well, it's not as if we could have transferred it here. Likely, we would have had to destroy it ourselves. Shaw saved us some work, it seems. But in any case, Hank, brilliant, brilliant boy that he is, has begun designing another Cerebro. "

Erik could hardly say he was shocked, if anything he had expected this to occur a long while ago, and when months had passed and no news heard he had been surprised.

"And what, does this have to do with me?"

"We would like your assistance, building the machine itself," Charles told him, with a smile, "it would do the boys some good. A bit of normalcy, to see you around. Consider it a period of adjustment, if you will. They took yours and Raven's decision rather hard," looking down at the board he moved a piece, before wheeling his chair back and past Erik, "Do let me know your decision, in the morning."

It was a testament to Erik's shocked state that he never protested the assumption that he would stay the night. But just as Charles moved through the now opened door, he called out impulsively,

"And what about us?"

"What's to mend?" Charles replied as he moved away, "I understood you long before you left. It was my own arrogance that made me think I could bring you enough peace to make you stay."

But still, Erik thought as he watched Charles get further away, it felt as though something needed mending.

He looked down at the chess board, at the knights and pawns, the positioned rooks;

And tipped over his ambushed king.

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He lay atop the coverlets of the familiar, and yet unfamiliar bed, fingers looped and resting against the cool metal of the helmet where it cupped the back of his skull. He stared up at the ceiling, idly spinning several coins around in the air, eccentric loops and whirls that made the metal hum music as they wound about.

Some things changed, and some didn't. The room hadn't been touched since he had left it. The clothes still thrown over the back of the chair, the turned up corner of the rug where he had nearly tripped so eager had he been to finally get his hands on Shaw. The room remained the same.

And Charles, without the use of his legs appeared the most different. What hadn't changed was, fundamentally, the man's ego.

It angered Erik the most, Charles' arrogance. The man could see into any mind like it was book left open by a careless child. Easy to rifle through, to read, and to learn. And if there was any one fault that Erik would describe of Charles Xavier it was that the telepath had the arrogance to believe that _reading_ the book was the same as _understanding_ it.

Perhaps Charles had learned, or perhaps he hadn't. This one time, it seemed, Charles had accepted that even knowing everything about a person, didn't necessarily mean that you could change him. Them.

At times he doubted, truly, that Charles understood him. His motivations, his wants and desires. At other times, it appeared that Charles knew him better than he knew himself. These conflicting urges to both trust and distrust the telepath set him on edge. Moreso, because he knew, inexplicably, that he _did_ trust Charles. Wanted, in fact, to trust Charles.

Did he trust him enough, with a machine that could hunt down their own kind? Admittedly, he had little choice in the matter. Likely Hank and Charles would build the damn thing with or without him. No doubt Charles requesting him had merely been a courtesy.

And he could further admit, that if there was anyone in the world who he would trust with the identities of mutants all over the globe, it would be Charles.

It was with that thought that he slowly drifted to sleep.

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"Good morning, my friend," Charles said cheerfully, as he wheeled his way through the door and into the kitchen. There were no cooks, Charles insisted on everyone learning basic skills. Cooking was one of them, and during his time here, Erik had learned to avoid the kitchen when Sean or Alex were about. The two boys were still sound asleep, presumably, as Erik had seen no sign of them since he had awoke. Not everyone woke at the crack of dawn.

"Hank and I were just discussing the best way to go about setting up the skeletal structure for Cerebro. Mind, we're still working out some of the kinks, so your input would be much appreciated, my friend."

Erik quirked an eyebrow, "I don't believe I ever said I would help,"

"Ah, but you're still here, aren't you? Now, it's this way. I left Hank fine tuning some of the blue prints."

Cerebro, it turned out, was to be built in a large cavernous room. It was similar to the domed building that Cerebro One had been in, this room, Erik noted, lay mysteriously within the walls of the Xavier mansion. Mysterious, because the room was quite large, and Erik had seen no sign of such a room from outside the mansion walls.

Hank, apparently had progressed a bit further than fine tuning and was fiddling with what seemed to be a colander from the kitchen, lengths of decorative lighting, and light bulbs. Upon their approach, Hank gave a bright cheery wave to Charles - who gave a small wave back - and glowered at Erik.

"Hank, really, Erik isn't going to disembowel me with a silver spoon...I could have done without that image, thank you." Charles winced and covered his eyes with his hands as though that could erase whatever he'd seen in the other mutant's mind. Hank flushed, which turned his skin an interesting shade of purple, and muttered an awkward, "sorry, Professor."

"So, this will be Cerebro," Erik said, as he stood in the center of the large empty complex. He glanced down at the diagrams that Hank had splayed out over the table. The end product look domed - which was to be expected considering that Cerebro One had been housed in a golf ball - with a center podium that stood in the center. A long pathway led from the entrance to the podium, where Hank had made the note "helmet here".

"I don't remember Cerebro being this...large," Erik said.

A growl smoldered beneath Hanks words. The grumble only contained by a sharp look from Charles, "We think that the increased size will more significantly amplify the Professor's telepathic abilities."

Charles moved closer to him and said, "Just like a satellite dish, my friend." he smiled, inviting Erik to share the joke. Erik merely sent him a wry quirk of the brow, a subtle sign of humor.

"And what are you planning to do with this?" Erik questioned, roaming around the empty space with his hands gently trailing along the smooth contours of the walls. The metal responded to his touch, and the building began to make small creaking sounds. Hank made as if to lunge forward and tackle him, the low rumbling in his chest had begun to crescendo and reach a peak. Charles held him back with an outstretched arm.

"A school." Charles said, quietly rolling up beside him. Erik is silent, and he wonders if Charles realizes the enormity of what he is attempting. Then again, he mused, neither of them liked to work small and it wasn't as if he himself was standing still.

"Very well," Erik said with a tight smile, "where do we begin?"

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There was a pattern emerging, Erik realized, as the days pass. He seemed to be settling in, fitting into the daily of lives with people who had not quite forgotten - or forgiven - how it was to have someone other than those left on the beach reside in the house.

While Charles seemed perfectly accepting, it was apparent that a clear line has been drawn between himself and the rest of the household. Though they had gradually settled, there was little interaction with the boys besides what was initiated by Charles. The most he had seen of them was during meals, in passing as they traversed through the mansion, or from afar when he could see them playing in the fields. At the very least, though, they had relegated their initial open hostility to a more neutral interaction that based itself mainly on avoidance tactics.

Of the three, he spent the most time with Hank, due to it being a necessity whilst working on Cerebro. The younger mutant had come to some sort of decision with himself to hold a truce with Erik in order to make the project work more smoothly. It was, most likely, in part for Charles' sake since the man really wanted them to get along. He had been encouraging them to interact, if not as friends, then at least with a modicum of respect towards the other.

His routine thus far consisted of waking early, grabbing a bite from the kitchen - he usually beat the boys to the food and therefore saw little of them before noon since they slept in - then headed down to where Hank and Charles would already have begun peering over the diagrams. He suspected that, if possible, they would even sleep in that room, dreaming of the metal giant that they were trying to create. Erik himself had entertained that notion himself, but probably for different reason. He dreamt, instead, of the rising lines of metal that would sing to him as he slept. It was a fanciful notion and Erik rather thought that Charles would find it amusing.

This morning Erik was particularly eager to begin working. Diagrams and calculations were more Hank and Charles' area of expertise. This morning, however, was when the materials were due to arrive and from the moment he had awoke Erik could hear them like a low hum along his bones that called from deep within the mansion.

"Erik," Charles said, looking up from the blue prints with a smile. Hank was nowhere to be seen, "Hank has stepped out for a moment. Something about need to go acquire some wires he had forgotten in his laboratory."

Erik barely heard a word that was said. The moment he stepped passed the open doors, his sense were assaulted by the hum of metal. The nearness and sheer quantity making his fingers itch, and it was times like these that Erik regretted the loss of the coin which he had often used to quiet the urge to reach out and satisfy that itch.

"-ik, Erik,"

He snapped out of it, and turned to his side to see Charles looking up at him, concerned.

"Are you alright?"

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands deep into his pocket, "Quite alright, thank you."

Realization struck Charles, and he nodded in understanding, "Ah, yes. I should have known, my friend."

He motioned for Erik to follow him, and as they moved outside - there was temporary door installed in the side of the room for the purpose of material transportation - and nodded to the piles of metal that were arrayed on the back lawn.

"The materials arrived this morning, of course. Regretfully, they thought they were delivering it to Mexico, but a little caution at this point would not be amiss," Charles told him amiably, "Well, it will probably take Hank quite a while. He's having difficulty locating the wire," he cocked his head, "and it appears he is attempting to persuade Alex to go into town to pick some up...oh, it looks like he won't be joining us today..." _Hank, it's quite alright-_

At this point Erik was already running his fingers across the cool grey metal. It shone in the light, and he laughed as he raised his arms to eye level and the long bars flew with them. Charles, turning around and seeing him, grinned and said, "well, we may as well get started."

Erik was only happy to comply.

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A few hours later, Erik stood in the center of a calming maelstrom. He was breathing heavily, hair sticking to his face, damp with sweat. He lowered his arms and looked at what he had wrought. The cool steel skeleton of Cerebro rose up and around him, metal sheeting bolted in place like gleaming skin held with needles. It sang to Erik, and he felt as though he was a conductor and the metal his orchestra.

"That was amazing, my friend," Charles says quietly. Charles who had sat silently beside him, and watch their creation take form, "Truly, you have reached towards the limits of your abilities."

"Limits?" Erik says, finally, turning to meet that steadfast gaze, "Charles, haven't you learned by now? there are no limits." And he is smiling, voice triumphant, the air between them crackles thick and tense.

The next moment, and however many years later he will never forget this, he feels the softness of Charles' hair between his fingers, hands rising to grip along his back, and the press of lips; heated and soft, bruising beneath the fierce pressure of his advance as the glorious hum of metal surrounds him in a symphony of sound.

Then just as suddenly, Charles pulled away. Reluctance was written all over his expressive face as he touched his lips absently. "Erik-we can't-"

Ignoring him, Erik leaned back in and tried to pull Charles back, regain what they had had a moment before. Then, once again, Charles is gone. Only this time Erik realized, that he was holding Charles' thin wrists in a vise-like grip, inches from his helmet.

"No," Erik said, angry.

Charles pulled his hands away, and, appearing unsure what to do with them, settled them on his lap. A look of resignation, and possibly reluctant relief, stole across his face.

"Erik..."

"The helmet stays on," Erik yanked himself away from Charles. Angry that he had placed himself into such a vulnerable position, "Was that your plan? Reel me in, and then remove it?" his voice was smooth, but he could hear Cerebro begin to rattle, a low buzz of discord to his senses. Serenity, he reminded himself, between anger and serenity, and felt his anger begin to lower to a smolder.

"That, my friend, was just as much you as it was me," Charles pointed out, attempting to remain reasonable. Erik ignored him, _Charles had pushed him away_ and _Charles tried to _**_remove the helmet_** were at the forefront of his mind. He was in no mood to listen to reason. Angrily, he shoved past Charles and headed towards the door.

"Erik, remember," Charles called after him, "Just like you took that helmet from Shaw, someday someone could take that helmet from you. It's not fool proof, you can't always count on it."

A low anger burned in Erik, simmering into rage, "Is that a threat?" Erik asked, low and deep. His voice rumbling.

"Oh, my friend," Charles said, shaking his head, and looking at him regretfully, "Not from me, never from me. A warning, if you will."

"Your words," He said coldly, "Mean nothing," and he left, punctuating his leave with a slam of the heavy metal door.

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Erik spent the next few hours fuming. He felt angry, but he didoes realize that Charles was not entirely to blame. Erik himself had allowed it to happen, and that had placed him in a vulnerable position. Now that he was calmer, Erik realized that there had been something off about Charles in that room. It had nothing to do with the helmet, but still, something wrong; a sense of hesitance that Erik had never seen his friend experience before. His arrogance was defining trait of Charles. The confidence that his mutation granted him that carried over into everything that his friend was.

Was it him? Erik wondered, and the odd unfamiliar feeling of guilt stung. He thought back to the bullet left in a small black pouch in his room in the pocket of the jacket he had worn here and thrown over the back of the chair in his room. Or was it something else? Erik speculated, and he was determined to find out.

Charles is laid out on his bed as Erik expected. A book in one hand, a pile of massive texts on his night table, he looked somewhat unsurprised to see Erik storming into his bedroom at just past midnight.

"Why aren't you angry with me?" Erik demanded, pointing at Charles' legs, "you should be furious."

Charles smiled, and if it was somewhat bitter, well, neither remarked on it, "I am trying, Erik, to be the better man."

"So you are angry," Erik said, and there's a confused mix of regret and satisfaction swirling inside. His heart feels as though it will beat through his chest, and into Charles' hands.

"No, no my friend," Charles said, "I forgave you. I told you, didn't I, that I understood you long before you left. So no, I am not angry."

"Then why," Erik asked, "What is it that has fractured between us?"

"Erik, my friend," Charles says placidly, "there is nothing wrong between us. We are perfectly fine."

"No it isn't!" Erik nearly ran a hand through his hair in frustration. There was absolutely no way that Charles didn't understand what he was saying. Was the man trying to be obtuse? Erik glared at him, "Is it me? I regret leaving you on the beach," the word 'beach', Erik notes, causes a slight twitch of one Charles' hands where it lay on his knee, "The beach?" he hazards again, and when Charles refuses to answer, a dawning suspicious arises as he presses, "your legs?"

The words hit home, Erik can tell by the way Charles stiffens slightly. The frozen line of his back, and the way he absolutely refuses to reflexively glance at his legs by staring straight at the book in his hand.

"Is that it? Your legs?" Erik demands, infuriated.

Charles closes his eyes, "Erik..."

"You are not damaged _here_," Erik snarled, reaching out and holding Charles' head between his two hands, their faces inches apart, "Charles, you are not in any way only half a man." and leaned down to pull him into a blazing kiss.

His name is lost against his mouth as Charles murmurs it over and over again, lips brushing against his. He pays no attention, until Charles, insistently, gives him a slight push. The hand on the back of his neck, however, tells him this is no rejection.

"Erik..." Charles hesitated, then reached out a hand and touched the cool metal of the helmet with a finger, "Erik, this really does need to come off."

Stung, Erik pulled away. Did always come down to the damned helmet, he wondered. Uncomfortable, Charles shifted a little, "For one, that thing looks silly when you're naked." an attempt at humor.

When Erik didn't respond, Charles ran a hand through his hair and sighed, "Erik, it would be like sleeping with a puppet." he said, "I'm a _telepath_. The mind is the most beautiful thing, and what you don't seem to understand, my friend, is that without that contact, the kind of intimacy that...whatever it is between us requires, would be detrimental to my well-being." he quirks a wry smile, "to be honest, it is only your warmth that convinces me that I am not sleeping with a corpse."

Erik doesn't respond, simply regarding Charles with his steady gaze.

"Please, my friend," Charles pleaded, "I can teach you, there are ways to block a telepath. And of anyone, I believe you have the mentality to retain the discipline required."

And Erik looked at Charles. Flushed and still breathing heavily as he lay on the bed, hair mussed and reaching for Erik with resigned desperation. Erik moved back back onto the bed. The mattress creaked beneath his added weight, and the comforter felt soft and cool beneath his hand. Charles with hope in his eyes, reached out and Erik locked their gazes. Never flinched, as he took Charles' wrist gently and placed his hands on either side of the helmet that locked his mind to Charles.

"Then teach me," Erik said, "Teach me to guard my thoughts, and this helmet will never enter this house."

And Charles brightens, his gaze is filled with a burgeoning optimism, "is that truly what you wish?" he visibly hesitates, "You have my word that I will not stop you if, come morning, you wish to wear it once more."

"I am sure, Charles," Erik tells him firmly, as he moves ever closer to Charles, so near that he can feel the heat emanating from the other man's body. The warmth of his skin, and steady rise of his chest, all this and more, Erik could feel his pulse beat more heavily, "Teach me." he said, the words swallowed by Charles as Erik pressed their lips together in a crushing kiss and mapped his way, with a teasing tongue, from Charles' lips to his ears where he gently bit the lobe.

"Now?" Charles asked, his eyes dancing with mischief. He looked more his age than he had for a while now. Since the beach, Erik thought, as he continued his embrace, laying a trail of soft kisses along the length of Charles' neck and down the planes of his chest.

"Later," he said, and Charles' laughter echoed in and around him.

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Afterwards, Erik merely watched Charles sleep. The slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, deep and evenly, and he wondered what limits Charles had. It seemed he had none. Physically disabled, and the power of his mind made him a formidable opponent.

"Erik," Charles said, without opening his eyes, "I can _feel_ you thinking. It's like a constant pressure on my eardrums," his eyes slit open, and he glanced over, "what is it, my friend?"

Erik regards Charles, his expression unfocused and contemplative, "I wonder sometimes, what is it like," he mused, "To hear the thoughts of everything around you."

Charles woke up fully, and looked up at Erik who had propped up his arm and was gazing down.

"Like standing in the center of a crowd," Charles said, softly, "like oil amongst water, everything is both separate and me at the same time and if I'm not careful I'm afraid that it will swallow me whole and I will be lost in a sea of consciousness," he took in Erik's expression and added gently, "it's like drowning, Erik. Except there is no one that can hold back the water, there is only myself to help me stay afloat."

The concept of drowning he understood; the overwhelming power of the water, of rage, of emotions that could consume one.

"How can you defend them?" Erik said, "Knowing everything they've done, how can you still defend them?"

"Because I know what they are capable of," Charles replied, "They have the capacity for cruelty, that is undeniable, but they also have the capacity to love, I've seen it."

"But when they fear," Erik said, "When they fear, their capacity for cruelty over rides their ability to love. Humans fear those who are better than them, and we are so far above humanity."

"Erik, humans are capable of so much," Charles said, touch his face gently, "but we are capable of so much more, and it is not our abilities that make us the better man, we are the better man because it takes strength to _forgive_."

"Forgiveness will not stop an army," Erik said, "it will not keep them from trying to destroy what you are beginning to build."

"Humans fear the unknown," Charles said, calmly, "And slowly, they begin to know us. It is up to what we are starting today, that will be the basis for what is to come."

"They will fear us," Erik told him, "And that fear will drive them, it is the instinct of animals to fight or flee that which threatens them."

"Do not forget, we are human too," Charles said, and tapped him gently on the chest, "you may have chosen the title "Magneto", but here, you are still Erik and your emotions are still human."

Erik doesn't say any more, he merely leans over to brush their lips together. A chaste touch, that becomes something more, and as he becomes lost in the sensation of warmth and smooth skin, he grabs hold of a fleeting thought. Grabs it tight and hides it in the deepest recesses of his mind where not even Charles will be able to find it.

_You were always the stronger one of us. _

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Dawn had just broken, and the golden light filtered through the drawn curtains of the kitchen window. The beams reflected along the strands of Charles' soft brown hair that filtered between Erik's hands as they cupped the back of Charles' head gently.

Eyes closed, they are lost in the sensation of one another. Hands wrapped around Erik's shoulders pulling him close and fingers digging into the flexing muscle. They're riding the high of (_youmeuspleasure)_ that is echoing around them and driving their hearts to beat in unison, their pulses increasing and their skin growing flushed and heated.

There's not beginning, no ending, and they are so deeply intertwined that they pay little attention to all else. They're like a rock in a stream, with everything flowing around them as they remain standing unconcerned with whatever may move past. Save for when they're shocked out of their embrace by broken off laughter and a yelp of startled shock.

"Oh geeze," Alex said, covering his eyes with one hand and waving the other at them as though it would ward off the sight of them, "this is like walking in on my parents having sex. Seriously, no."

"Alex? Wha-" Sean stumbles in a moment later, the two having apparently woken up and drifted towards to kitchen in search of food. He immediately saw the Professor and Magneto still locked in an undeniably intimate embrace - though it was considerably of a lower rating than what Alex had seen due to his initial interruption.

"Oh man, not the kitchen. Please tell me that they _did not do it in the kitchen_."

Charles attempted to placate them, his expression bordering on panic edged with amusement, "Sean...Sean, don't worr- ALEX! Honestly, it's not quite that - okay, well, that is what yo- Sean will you stop-" he winces, and reached a hand to his temple, "thank you for that enlightening lesson on cucum- No, that is no- Hank!" there was a brief pause, and then he said surprised, "You're not surprised at all."

Hank looked at them from the doorway and said, "You're not nearly as subtle as you think you are, Professor. Doesn't matter if I can't see you, Magneto still makes Cerebro talk."

Sean paled, "That...that is _way more_ than I ever want to know."

Alex gave him a long suffering look, grabbed him in a head lock, and paused briefly in the tussle, "If you hurt him," he warns Erik, voice low, his tone punctuated by Hank's steady and impassive stare from behind him. Sean tried, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the hair in his eyes and flailing arms that tried to get Alex to release his iron hold.

"Yes, yes, you will light me on fire, and you will tear off my head." Erik replied sardonically.

Sean made an abortive motion with his arm in an attempt to raise it in the air.

"-and you will blast my ear dreams."

"Glad we understand each other," Alex says, and dragged Sean along behind him, "Next time lock the door!" drifted through the doorway behind him before Hank shut it with a light click on his way out.

The lock snaps shut a moment later.

Charles exchanged glances with Erik before bursting into laughter.

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Later that afternoon, Erik is wandered about in the mansion. He had spent some time within Cerebro, etching the magnificent machine into his memory. It was unlikely that he would ever step foot within those walls again. When he left, it would become Charles' domain and Charles' only. He had no place in that fortress of metal. However, as he had left he saw no sign of any of the mansion's other occupants at this time in the afternoon, which struck him as odd since at this time of day the boys were running about training, or up to whatever entertainment they indulged in, and Charles was usually in his study.

Then the sudden sound of voices from a door, left ajar, that drifted from the floor above him drew his attention. He ascended the stairs to investigate.

"Wuss," the voice was clearly Alex's.

"Oh and what if it was _you_ about to fall to your death?"

"I told you. There is little danger that the new material will affect your flying in any way, Sean. I just wanted to be sure…."

"Right. A _little_ danger."

"Science is all about trial and error."

"And what if _I'm_ the error?"

"C'mon, he's just going to sit there all day."

"No, Alex, you will not- Hank, no. There will be no defenestrating. Sean? Sean, calm down, you have my word. None of us here will throw you out of a window."

"Or push," Sean said, obstinately. Charles nodded, obliging, and said, "Or pushing. There will be no pushing out of the window."

"Ah, Erik, so good of you to join us, my friend," Charles said, as the door opened.

Erik blinked momentarily, "What are all of you doing?"

"Fine tuning Sean's suit," was the cheerful answer, "Hank was concerned that changing the material would hinder Sean during flight."

"I see. And is Sean planning on getting airborne any time soon?" Erik said, getting closer, and then with a sudden shove pushed Sean off the ledge.

"Oh no," Sean yelped, before he tumbled out of the window. Everyone ran to the window and peered over the edge in time to hear a deafening screech and see Sean pull upwards and zip into the sky, past the window.

"Obviously, it's done no harm."

Sean merely glared at him, and contemplated releasing the sonic screech at the window.

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They watched Hank and Alex rush towards the door - a race that Hank invariably won - and nearly tumble down the stairs in their haste to join Sean outside. Sean, it seemed, had discovered the errant football that had gone missing some time back from a rather forceful throw on Hank's part.

Charles is smiled. He looked happy, and the low hum in the back of his mind _(Charles)_ is filled with contentment which tells Erik all he needs to know.

"And this why we decided to rebuild Cerebro," Charles said, "All children should feel like this," he is watching the boys fondly through the window. Hank had tackled Sean from the sky with a high bound, and Alex who arrive several seconds after the tackle was preparing to join the dog pile.

"Children?" Erik said, "Charles, you're barely older than they are."

"Ah, but children they are, nonetheless," Charles quirks a smile at him, "you can't say you don't think the same."

Glancing up at Erik, he made a slight gesture towards the door. Taking the hint, Erik gave Charles' wheelchair a slight nudge to turn it away from the window.

"Thank you, my friend," said Charles as he proceeded to then wheel himself out the doors and down the ramp that the boys had installed during his hospitalization. Erik walked by his side, pacing his long stride to match with the glide of Charles' wheel chair. He waited, expecting him to continue his line of thought, and. Charles didoes not let down his expectation.

"By identifying these mutants, I can offer them a chance that none of us, save for perhaps Raven and I to a certain extent, had," He tells Erik, "A chance to be amongst others of their kind, and to know that they are not alone. A place for them to be themselves,"

"The hope I hold," Charles said, "is for students to be able to accept their differences, their similarities. And to accept that there are no lines, they are both human and mutant."

Charles gestured towards the boys outside, running and laughing as Sean swooped through the air, snatching the football from Alex and dodging a plasma blast as he swerved back into the sky, Hank making a running leap and stealing it from the airborne mutant with a jump.

"That is a rather impressive goal," Erik told him, with an amused smile.

"I like to think of it as more of a balancing act," Charles said, "We may be the next step in evolution, but I believe that means we must also remember that we are just as human as those without abilities. Our powers are our tools, nothing more, and it is up to us to decide how to wield them."

There was silence, after that. They enjoyed the rustle of the leaves as wind blows past. The soft hush of moving grass, and birds flitting through the sky singing as they land upon an unsteady branch drift through the air. The quiet was only broken by the sound of laughter, of young boys playing; of mutants running across the lawn, free to be themselves. Charles basked in the thrum of happiness and belonging the swept through their minds, and the contentment and determination of Erik that is a solid steady undertone to his senses. Their emotions and thoughts are soothing as warm white noise in the back of his mind. And Erik feels the hum of metal, the spokes of the wheels that Charles' hands rest upon, the singing of Cerebro within the mansion, and for once he feels at peace.

"I won't stop you leaving," Charles said with a sidelong glance, and Erik hears an echo from months (what feels like years) past, "I could-"

"But you won't," Erik concluded.

Charles smiled, "But I won't."

And this time, Erik chose to walk away. He was already a part of something greater, something he has begun to build. There is a budding force, a tidal wave of power that he will use to sweep over all of non-mutant kind. Though they are not friends, he is no longer working alone. He has no reason, save Charles, to stay. And he cannot reconcile his beliefs with those of Charles. They are two forks of the same path, and they are always parting.

But he won't stay away, not forever. And looking at Charles, calm and composed, he knows that Charles understands.

This is the future. It is inescapable. And Erik has long foreseen it.

Erik will push. He will push mutants to their very limits, he will take them places that he believes are rightfully theirs. Take back what humans have no right to have. He will remind Charles that not all humans are worthy.

And in his own way, Charles will also push for mutants to come into their own. For them to be accepted, to no longer have to hide. But, more importantly Charles will pull. He will reel Erik back, and remind him of limits. Of lines that shouldn't be crossed, that there are shades of gray, and humans can love.

True focus lies somewhere between rage and serenity. Glancing at Charles, he allowed a small smile. If he could balance that line, then surely, together, he and Charles could keep in balance, this precarious new relationship that they had begun to cultivate.

"I'll probably poach your students."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect anything less, my friend."


End file.
